


The Devil's Spawn

by Tsume_Yuki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asshole Tom Riddle, Basically Tom and Harry Have A Child, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Harry Had No Idea There Was A Child, Harry Potter's Scar Looks Like Real Lightning, Immortality, Master of Death Harry Potter, Non-Consensual Baby Making, Not With Rape, That There Could Even Be One, but with magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5109404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hariel had thought that the war, that Voldemort, was all behind her now. That is, until the goblins inform her a young orphan boy had been found in London, one that shares her blood and has a terrifying affinity for snakes. Harry was less then impressed to find herself lumped with Voldemort's spawn. Especially as the man doesn't seem as defeated as she once thought. eventual LV/HP<br/><s>Because I want one where Harry raises Voldemort's offspring</s></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 

 

 

 

 

 

_12th August 2000_ ****  
  


 

 

 

Hariel Jamie Potter grimaced, letting out a pained groan as she did so.

It'd been two years since the demise of Voldemort, a whole two years since his body had laid flat out on the floor, no longer that of an immortal god, but that of a broken man, defeated at his own game.

Life had gone on.

All had been well.

Up until now that was.

 

Three days after the war, Harry had gone to Gringotts, presented herself before the goblins and made her best grovelling apology. She'd not wanted to rob them, but there had been no other way to get the Horcrux, it wasn't like Bellatrix would have handed it over if she'd just asked nicely.

Surprisingly enough, the director of Gringotts had pulled her aside and in hushed tones, explained a not very well known secret about the goblin bank.

Apparently, the little verse outside was not so much of a warning as it had been a challenge. The goblins were a warrior race, they prided themselves on being able to protect anything, and the inscription outside was a promise and boast, that they could not be beaten when it came to looking after your gold. The fact that she had managed to do so had infuriated them, but also invoked a grudging respect.

So much so that she'd ended up with a job offer; to become the first Goblin-Wizard consultant.

Even now, two years later, they were still working out the finer details of just what it was that she actually did when on the job. She was called in for whatever task they felt required her.

How to update the safety of their vaults; they'd ask her to explain how she'd go about stealing from them again. They showed her the defences, she worked out how to get around them, and then they'd go away and make improvements, before once again repeating the process. Anything they felt required her attention, became her problem.

But Harry didn't care.

She'd been grateful for the job, probably far more than she should have been.

Because everyone had expected her to go into the Law Enforcement business, and she'd not wanted that at all. She'd had enough of that life, of chasing and being chased. She wanted nothing more than to be normal, to have a somewhat normal job, a somewhat stable life as opposed to what she'd suffered through these past few years.

Ron had been a bit put out, but Hermione had encouraged her to go for it, rambling on about Goblin-Wizard relations and how Harry was taking the first step in what would hopefully be a journey to a better future.

So yes, Harry received a lot of benefits of being the only wizard goblins would almost happily associate with.

 

One of those benefits was brought to her attention two years into her employment.

 

 

With recent legislation that'd gone through the Wizengamot, changes had been made.

Now, any magical child that registered upon the Ministry’s radar that was located in an orphanage, were noted down.

Somehow, someway, agents of the Ministry would get a hold of a blood sample, which would then be passed off to the goblins for blood tests, just to see if there were any living magical relatives.

Harry had been the mastermind behind this proposal, even if it was Neville's grandmother who'd pushed it through the governing body.

Regardless of the source, it'd been accepted, and Harry had been happy to note that there was less chance of another Voldemort rising now under the same circumstances.

From there, the goblins would carefully, and most importantly, quietly, inform the nearest relative of the orphan, who would then be see them collected and brought back to their family.

It'd only happened twice so far, but that was two orphans who now had family, so Harry considered it all a success. She'd never once thought that the law would ever effect her in any way shape or form.

Which was why she was understandably confused when upon this day, the goblins pulled her aside into a small office for a little talk.

“Excuse me?”

Having just turned twenty years old, Harry had understandably been considering having a child for a very short amount of time. She knew that first of all, she wanted a stable life and a stable relationship with a man she loved very much before any child came along. She'd promised herself long ago that she'd only ever have a child if she knew that said child would receive the childhood she'd never had.

A loving one.

So, with this in mind, then the information she'd just been given could not, in any way, be true.

Spikefang, the goblin who'd been the one to pull her aside for a few moments, grimaced slightly at her clear distress, pushing the papers towards her across the table, drumming the fingers of his other hand atop the solid oak desk.

“There is no mistake Miss Potter. The law requires us to contact the nearest, most suitable blood relative. That would be you.”

That wasn't the part Harry was confused with.

What she was confused with was how close the relation was.

She did not have a child. Could not. She'd never even slept with anyone!

And yet, the paper said she was closest blood relative, that she made up fifty percent of this kid's DNA.

“Spikefang,” Harry's voice came out somewhat strangled, like Crookshanks had snuck down and decided to rest within her voice-box, “are there any other ways to produce a kid...Outside of the usual?”

“You mean aside from mating,” the goblin grumbled, eyes narrowed upon her form like she was asking one of the most stupid questions he'd ever heard before. As if she was a beggar that'd come to set up a bank account.

“Dark magic, right?” Harry asked, hands clenching, crumpling the papers she'd been given. She hoped they were copies, and not the original documents. Otherwise her employers might be a bit unhappy with her.

Again.

“You do not know of the blood rituals? Pure-blood families who find themselves infertile may perform rituals with the blood of both would be parents to create an offspring. Your Ministry does not even recognise it as dark magic.”

Fingers tightening on their paper captives, Harry forced herself to breath, to draw air in and let air escape, otherwise she'd end up on the floor.

Someone had taken her blood. Someone had taken her blood and made themselves a child.

And then they'd dumped that child at the orphanage like they were nothing important, like they were nothing more than an experiment gone wrong and no longer worthy of their time.

Maybe even left on a doorstep, the same way she had been. However, that meant she'd know who to track down now.

“The father?” Harry hissed between clenched teeth, even though she already knew the goblins wouldn't tell her. Not unless she went through the Ministry to sue for line-theft and they were ordered to hand over confidential files.

And Harry knew that they would be furious if she did so, goblin friend or not.

And she certainly didn't want the Ministry to know about this.

Not yet and possibly not ever.

But she had to go get this kid, to see this child with her own two eyes to even start believing what she'd been told.

“Confidential,” the goblin frowned, clicking his tongue and clearly not happy that he couldn't tell her either.

Harry nodded, rising somewhat stiffly before reaching for her wand.

“I don't think I'll be in for work tomorrow.”

Spikefang just gave a grunt, returning to his paperwork as Harry apperated out, another benefit of being a goblin friend.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

_13th August 2000_ ****  
  


 

 

 

Muse's House did not sound like an orphanage. Nor did it much look like one to Harry, but then again she'd only ever seen Wool's, which would be a poor example now that they were in the twenty-first century. A lot could change in seventy years, and this looked like it was going to be one of those things.

It was a bright enough building, with lots of play things for the children to partake in while out in the yard.

Most were running around right now, though curious eyes often turned to Harry and her guide.

Heracles.

That was the name of the little boy who'd recently preformed a bit of magic and registered in the Ministry.

Heracles was the little boy who'd been created with her blood through what Harry had no doubt was some dark magic. The only reason it was probably still legal was so pure-blood families could have an heir if they ever found themselves infertile.

It didn't surprise her as much as it should have done.

She'd introduced herself as Hariel Evans at the front desk, informing them that her sister had recently died and left in her will the location of her child. Harry was planning on hitting her guide, one Ashley Ward, with a memory charm the second she saw this boy.

Because she couldn't leave him here.

The goblins had promised to sort out the rest.

What was worrying was that the woman had taken one look at her, gasped, and then whispered under her breath that she 'had his eyes'.

“He's a lovely little boy. Very intelligent, a bit quiet, but always polite. We'll be sad to see him go.”

Harry nodded, feeling terror coil inside her stomach. She didn't know the first thing about looking after a kid, but she had to try.

This boy, Heracles, wound not go through the childhood she had. No way, no how. That didn't mean that she knew what to think, what to do, though.

“Heracles?”   


Harry perked up. She didn't know what to feel with this kid, she'd only just recently considered the idea of finding someone to start a family with, to have children with, and now she was presented with one already born and four years old.

She'd missed four years of this little boy's life, her little boy.

But she wouldn't be missing any more. She was only terrified that she wouldn't love him on sight. Like a parent was suppose to.

As soon as a small figure appeared from the sandbox, Harry whipped out her wand, thankful that they were somewhat secluded, and hit Ashley with a memory charm.

She felt somewhat bad for it, but shrugged it off. There were things more important than this young woman at the moment. Like this child made from her blood that was slowly approaching.

The summer sun was hot on the back of Harry's neck as she knelt down on the grass, ignoring Ashley who began walking off, mumbling over how she couldn't quite remember what she was doing.

“Are you Heracles?” Harry asked quietly, watching in fascination as the little boy nodded, lifting his head from where he'd been hiding behind dark hair. Dark hair with the slightest of reddish tints to it. The colour of her mother's hair but so much darker it was closer to black.

But the second the shoulder length hair was out of his face, Harry's smile froze upon her lips.

Those were her eyes.

The same emerald green she saw in the mirror every day looking back at her.

 

But they were in Tom Riddle's face.


	2. One

 

 

 

 

 

 

_13th August 2000_

 

 

 

 

One arm wrapped around a pair of childish legs, another carefully pressing the youngster into her chest, Harry tapped her boot twice against the freshly painted door of Grimmauld Place.

It'd been four hours since she'd met Heracles, four hours since she'd gone through the muggle childcare system to claim her baby boy off of them, to take him far, far away from the orphanage that had housed him for far too long.

He'd fallen asleep in her arms, one hand tangled up in her long red hair and the other resting upon his chin, thumb jammed back in his mouth once again.

Looking down at the sleeping bundle that was curled up against her torso, Harry felt a small smile lick at the corners of her lips.

Oh, don't misunderstand.

His face was haunting, like looking back into a past she'd much rather care to leave far behind her, to forget about completely.

But he was also a child, an innocent child that shared her blood. He knew nothing of their world, nothing of her or of the man who'd contributed to fifty percent of his DNA. She didn't like to think on that too much, but hey ho.

She'd get on with life, as she'd always done regardless of anything and everything thrown her way.

Only this time, she wouldn't be so alone as she made her way forwards, because now she had a little boy toddling after her. Her little boy.

The front door swung open, Kreacher staring at the small bundle in her arms with wide eyes.

“Mistress Harry, welcome home. Should Kreacher making food for the guest too?”

“Some sandwiches maybe?”

Shuffling into the hallway after the old house-elf, Harry adjusted her grip on the little boy in her arms, shivering slightly when the boy's breath ghosted across the side of her neck.

Having being left Grimmauld Place by her godfather, Harry had never been able to summon up the will to get rid of anything, be it the house or the objects that had nested within its walls.

Which proved difficult when every dark object that'd once been removed from the house by the Order of the Phoenix mysteriously reappeared over the summer.

It wasn't until Kreacher had stopped laughing that Harry had gotten an explanation, that the Black wards hit everything that rested within the house with a retrieval charm, and that anything that left the house without said charm's removal would return after half a decade outside of the grounds.

Harry had been somewhat torn, because people had bought these charmed artefacts and books, but then again, should she really be feeling sorry for the kinds of people who would buy these books? The answer, she'd come to realize after much thought, was a resounding no.

So instead she'd just gotten Kreacher to pack up everything that was cursed and stash it away to deal with later.

A good decision, considering she would now have a child running around.

“What has Mistress brought home?”

Clutching the boy ever so slightly tighter to her chest, Harry ran one hand up the length of Heracles' back, making her way into the redecorated living room. They'd given Grimmauld Place a bit of a makeover, and while she'd let Kreacher keep the vast majority of the Black heritage, she'd had him brighten up the place, the two of them installing windows and lights, painting the walls lighter shades and reapplying brighter wallpaper.

The living room was done in rich greens and neutral light browns, probably the most welcoming room in the whole house.

“Kreacher, this is Heracles... Heracles Sirius Potter.” Though she'd always wanted to name her first-born after her father, she was not giving the boy the same initials that she had, otherwise they'd be getting all of their things mixed up constantly.

Sirius she had known, and while he hadn't been perfect, he had been her godfather. He had loved her.

So it was him she honoured.

She only prayed that little Heracles wouldn't grow up to as troublesome as his namesake.

“Mistress?” Kreacher was gripping both of his ears now, twisting the ends back and forth as he looked at the small figure that Harry had set on the comfier sofa.

Running a hand through her hair, Harry gave a little laugh shaking her head to and fro. She was going to have to not only explain this madness to Kreacher, but to everyone of her friends, probably all of the people she knew.

Hell, she'd probably have to tell a reporter, because otherwise they'd run wild with theories.

Which led to a problem.

She could never let the identity of Heracles' father be known. They'd no doubt come after boy, and the world would burn before she allowed that to happen.

However, she'd worry about that later and instead focus on telling Kreacher what had happened, from the goblins, to the orphanage, to meeting her unknown son.

 

* * *

 

 

_He was a beautiful boy, Harry reflected, knelt in the grass still and staring in complete awe, horrified awe, at the little boy before her._

_Of course, only that bastard would dare to do something like this. Not even the Death Eater's would ever stoop so low. But even he- she'd never have expected him to sink low enough to leave another wizard with muggles._

_Not when he'd suffered through it himself._

_Knew how bad it could get._

_The boy before her contradicted that thought. He was the spitting image of who she now knew for certain to be his father, only with her eyes and mahogany coloured hair that just had to come from the both of them._

_She felt furious, beyond fury, at the fact Voldemort had dared to go so far, but all that coursed through her veins was tiny in comparison to the wondrous awe at the little life before her._

_Heracles was a gorgeous little boy, with his big green eyes and wavy, dark red hair. He had Tom's face, but that could almost be ignored in favour of the cheeks rounded with childish innocence and the eyebrows that were without doubt hers._

_She wanted to be angry, and no doubt she would be at a later date. She would curse Voldemort to the ends of the earth for daring to create a child using her blood and dark magic._

_But she would never take that out on the little boy before her. She would never become someone who would blame the child for their parent's mistakes._

_She was no Petunia, no Snape._

_“Hi there,” Harry whispered, emotions running raw within her body and leaving her arms trembling slightly._

_Heracles was looking back at her, one hand clutching at a small soft toy he'd clearly been tugging around for a while, sand clumped up between his small fingers._

_“Hello,” the boy replied, still looking curious and confused at the same time, eyes focused completely upon her, “you have my eyes.”_

_Harry could feel hysterical laughter bubbling up inside her chest for a second, but she pushed it down, trying to focus. It would probably scare the kid -her son- away._

_“I think you mean that I gave you your eyes,” Harry corrected gently, watching as Heracles stuck the thumb of his free hand into his mouth, sucking on the digit and looking so cute it took all she had not to coo at the sight._

_She'd never had that reaction when she'd gone to see Teddy and he'd done something especially cute. Maybe it was different when it was your own child?_

_“Who are you?”_

_Harry clenched her fingers around her knees, forcing herself to focus._

_“I'm your mother Heracles. I promise, I didn't know about you until now, I came as soon as I did.”_

_“Okay.”_

_Startled at the sudden acceptance, Harry stared at the child before realizing he was looking expectantly at her._

_He trusted her, just like that. He'd noticed the shared the same eyes, and accepted her instantly._

_Something cold twisted in her stomach, because had Voldemort survived, had he shown up here wearing a glamour, then her precious little boy would have been just as quick to trust him. She knew that._

_She'd been there, had walked around Little Whinging picking out the strangers who had similar features to her own._

_Desperately wishing that they'd be the one to turn up, to save her from the cupboard. How easily Voldemort could have corrupted her little boy. She didn't know why the dead Dark Lord had left him here, but she could only thank Merlin he had._[AC1] 

_“Would you like to come home with me?”_

_Heracles' lips parted slightly, the same eyes she saw in the mirror everyday blowing wide before he hastily nodded his head._

_Harry almost cried with relief._

 

* * *

 

 

Kreacher stared back at her for a second before turning to look at Heracles, his face twisting this way and that, from disgust to something between adoration. Of course, the house elf had been very much involved in the raising of Sirius and Regulus, Harry knew that. And she'd won the elf's respect, but would that extend to her son, the child of two half-bloods?

She hoped so.

She wouldn't order Kreacher to like Heracles, but it would make life infinitely easier, that's for sure. Yet, that was a problem for later.

Right now, she had some more important matters to attend to.

“Kreacher, I want the floo locked down for the next forty eight hours. I want the wards powered up as high as we can get them. No one is getting in this house right now. I-I need some time on my own...” Harry trailed off, looking at the sleeping boy on her sofa before she sat down on the thick fur rug Kreacher had retrieved from a Black camping lodge.

The house elf must have nodded because from the corner of her eye he faded out of existence with a sharp snap, ready to carry out her orders down to the letter.

On cue, the plate of sandwiches requested earlier sprang into existence, settling on the solid wooden top of the coffee table. Harry snatched up one of the little slices, nibbling from the crust, though her eyes never left Heracles.

She had a son.

An adorable baby boy that was already four years old. That old urge for family, for real family that the Weasleys had never really been able to fill, no matter how hard they tried, roared back into existence with all the abruptness of apperation. The little hole in her chest that'd been demanding to be filled was suddenly a little less wide, suddenly a little less noticeable.

Tears welled up in her eyes and Harry shuffled a bit closer, taking in Heracles' sleeping form.

He was so beautiful. His hair was near black, with only the slightest tint of red to its exceedingly dark waves. It was a little long, reaching his shoulders, but the length reminded her of Sirius. His skin was pale, near enough her own shade, free of blemishes and scars. So he'd not suffered any noticeable injuries then, that was good.

Orphanages were much better now than in the 1930's, but they were still orphanages.

His eyelashes were thick, hiding the identical green irises she knew rested beneath. He had the shape of her eyebrows, but his cheekbones weren't from her, nor the shape of his nose and lips. Though they were thinner than the one's she remembered from her second year, the ones that had whispered words of power and legacies.

Even with the bits that came from Voldemort, he was perfect.

Heracles had taken only the good bits, and she hoped that remained true for his personality too.

What was she suppose to say when he woke up? What did she want him to call her? Would he be okay calling her mother? Mum?

Hell, would she be okay being called that?

She was only twenty years old, could she handle a four year old calling her that?

She only needed to take another look at his face to know the answer. It would both bother and thrill her to hear that.

She didn't know his first word, she didn't know what foods he liked, what his favourite colour was. She knew nothing but the few pieces she'd been able to put together upon their meeting.

She would make it her new mission to learn everything.

“Mistress? The floo is blocked and the wards up, should Kreacher prepare a room for Little Master?”

Head snapping up to look at her house elf, Harry let out a shaky breath, slowly nodding.

“Yes please Kreacher, that'd be great.”

The house elf snapped away with a click of his fingers and Harry turned back to look at Heracles.

Only to startle when she noticed he was awake. Wide green eyes met hers and Harry felt her face flush slightly. Okay, so she'd been caught watching him sleep, but really, could she be blamed for it? No matter how he'd come about, he was a little miracle.

“Good afternoon,” Harry grinned, watching as Heracles blinked in bewilderment at her, looking honestly confused. Over what, she didn't know, but she hoped she wasn't the source.

“Good afternoon,” he repeated slowly, eyes trailing around the room, taking in everything around him. There was probably a lot of interesting things present, Harry realized. There were a great many wizarding things just thrown across the room, which would obviously be a point of interest for a child raised by muggles.

“Heracles-”

His attention snapped to her instantly and Harry forced herself not to grin, instead carefully pulling her Holly wand from her sleeve and offering it up for the boy to inspect.

“Have you ever had anything strange happen around you before?”

The boys eyes went wide again and he looked this way and that, as if expecting someone to be eavesdropping on their conversation. Then, he leaned forwards, as if about the share the secret to eternal youth. Harry couldn't quite keep the grin off of her face as he did so.

“I made the cookie jar float,” he whispered, looking around the room again. Probably for Kreacher, she realized, seeing as he might have woken up to the house elf's voice.

“You mean like this?” Harry asked, taking her wand back from the boy and silently summoning 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'.

Heracles let out a little gasp as Harry caught the book in her free hand, offering it up to the boy with a grin. She knew now how Hagrid had felt, introducing her to the world of magic. It was sharing the greatest secret in the world, a special one for only them to talk about.

“How?” Heracles was still running his hands over the book, one finger tracing the words on the front and slowly sounding them out. So he could already read then? That was good, she would have had no idea where to start with that, but now she could just build on what he already knew. He was probably a year or two ahead of her in that regard at least, Harry hadn't learnt to read until she'd gone to school. Petunia had never taken the time to teach her.

“Magic,” answering with a shrug, Harry transfigured the coffee table into a hound and back, watching as Heracles gave a breathless gasp, wonder written across his face.

“I think I can tell you a little about it.”

“Only a little?”

Leaning forwards, but this time in excitement, eyes alight with joy, Heracles smiled at her. And he looked so beautiful that for that single moment Harry forgot the vast majority of her worries and began explaining all about the world he came from and belonged in.

It didn't matter what they'd face in the future, Harry couldn't picture herself anywhere other than right here during that instant.


	3. Two

 

 

 

 

 

_13th August 2000_

 

 

 

“How did you not know about me?”

Harry froze, looking down at Heracles, who was currently curled up against her side as they read Beedle's tales together. He'd been hesitant to come close at first, but as time wore on, he'd relaxed into her side happily, following Harry's finger as she ran it over the words, hoping he'd start recognising them that way.

“Pardon?”

“Miss Ward said babies come from mummies' bellies when I asked. If you're my mama, then why didn't you know?”

She'd really hoped to avoid this question for at least a day, because Harry really, really didn't want to think about it. How the hell was she suppose to explain to a four year old that he'd come into existence at the whims of a Dark Lord, only to be forgotten about and then left to his own devices until she'd found out about him?

“Magic can do a lot of things Heracles... One of those is having a different way to make babies. Some of my blood was taken to make you, but I didn't know until recently.”

His eyes gazed up at her for a few long seconds before the boy nodded, running a hand through his dark hair and messing up what had once been a neat wave on one side, the other having already been lost to bed hair.

“Okay.” He accepted the answer easily, much easier than what Harry would have.

But then again, she'd probably have been the same if someone had told her magic rituals could make babies on the day she'd learnt about magic.

Her son nuzzled against her ribcage, letting out a sleepy yawn and Harry cast a quick tempus charm, frowning at the numbers. Was nine o'clock late for a child's bedtime?

Probably, but they'd spent a good deal of the past few hours talking about magic, introducing Heracles to Kreacher -they were both a bit wary of one another, but seemed to get along well enough- and the past thirty minutes they had spent reading.

“Bed time I think.”

Heracles let out a sleepy whine of protest, but only got halfway through his demand to remain awake to witness more magic before another yawn invaded his speech.

A small smile pulled at the corners of Harry's lips as she lifted the boy in her arms, watching in fascination as Heracles curled up against her side as if he'd rested there thousands of times before, his sleep heavy head coming to lay upon her shoulder, one thumb jammed into his mouth.

He was undeniably adorable, looking up at her from under those thick eyelashes with her green eyes.

Her son, and still she couldn’t seemed to stop repeating that thought over and over again, had taken a hold of her shirt collar with his free hand, nuzzling against the warm junction between her collarbone and neck with his cold nose.

This was everything.

She'd always wanted to be a mother, always wanted to bring life into the world. And while it wasn't the way she'd thought she'd be going about it, the fact she had a child was now completely undeniable.

And Harry Jamie Potter was enchanted by him.

If there was one good thing, one single thing that Voldemort had ever done, it was this. Not the whole blood-line theft thing, but that he'd set events in motion that led her to this little boy.

“Kreacher, which room have you set up?”

“Master Regulus' old nursery has been cleaned up, Mistress.”

Nodding, Harry slowly made her way up the stairs, gently pressing Heracles' head into her shoulder to avoid the nosy portraits that craned their painted necks in an attempt to get a better look at him. Something in her eyes must have told them not to press though, because none of them said a word as she passed by, instead retreating to spread the news. The House of Black was once again playing host to a new heir.

Even if he wasn't a direct descendant of the main line, Harry had been related to Sirius through her grand-mother's mother, so there was most certainly some Black blood in Heracles.

Pushing open the door to the nursery, Harry smiled at the sight before her. It was a typical pure-blood room, like everything else in the house, but that wasn't what she found amusing.

Instead, it was the little touches that Kreacher had so obviously gone out of his way to make without announcing them to her; the little lions carved into the dresser, the little wooden snakes sneaking up the bed-posts.

Heracles would want for nothing unlike her younger self; here she has the Black and Potter fortune to treat him like a little prince. And that was exactly how he would be treated.

Depositing Heracles on the bed, Harry transfigured his clothes into a set of clean pyjamas, promising herself that she'd send Kreacher out for some real attire for the boy later on. Drowsy green eyes flickered up to look at her after they were done inspecting the new clothing and Heracles gave a tired smile. But it was a pleased smile, a content one.

The smile of a child who'd gotten everything he'd ever wanted.

She'd never seen that smile in the mirror before, had never gotten the chance before world weariness crept into her green eyes.

But Heracles was innocent, and he would remain so, for as long as she had a say about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_14th August 2000_

 

 

 

"Mistress, a letter from the goblins!"

Kreacher's excessively large nose scrunched up as the source of the letter made itself known from the wax stamp upon the back and Harry gave a low sigh, running a hand through her hair. It was the early morning and she'd found herself once again sat up to the kitchen table, pouring over a set of documents her employers had presented her with a week ago, some more background knowledge on their great nation.

At the magnificent hour of five in the morning. The early morning.

Ever since the Seventh-Year-That-Was-Not, Harry hadn't been able to sleep. At least, not for as long as she would have liked.

The constant pressure of being forced to keep watch, of not knowing if the place she was resting her head was truly safe, had built up.

Hermione called it PTSD, but Harry just found it an annoyance that she had to put up with in life. Like the adoring wizard population, like the reporters.

Like those who wanted her to become an Auror or a Hit Wizard just because she was famous for taking down one dark wizard.

Harry hated it.

Never would she be 'just-Harry'.

Never would she get a normal life.

And perhaps that was going to extend outwards towards Heracles, perhaps he too would never have a normal life.

Really, he'd had no chance, not with the parents he'd gotten. And though she had every intention of hiding his father's identity for as long as she could, it would still seep through the cracks.

The Parseltonuge could be passed off as a genetic gift, something that had never left her even as the Horcrux had fled.

But Heracles would eventually hear that she had only gotten that due to her connection to the last Dark Lord. He would ask questions, when he was old enough to put it all together.

He might even hate her for it.

Harry rubbed at her temples, letting out a tired sigh as she did so.

Who knew parenting could be so hard? How had Molly and Arthur done it? How had the raised seven great kids? Each and every Weasley, no matter their flaws, had possessed a heart of gold, even if some were buried deeper than others.

Harry could only pray that she'd be able to nurture Heracles half as well as the Weasley parents had done for their brood.

Which brought her back to the letter held carefully between her hands. Rereading the words when they refused to sink in the first time.

 

_Hariel Jamie Potter,_   
_Goblin Friend,_   
_Head of the House of Potter, Head of the House of Black, Head of the House of Peverell,_

_The Goblin Nation have received word from our Ministry spy that the government is aware that a child sharing close blood ties with your person exists._

_If you do not claim the child within the next twenty four hours, he will become a ward of the Ministry, something we can both safely assume will be used against you. An appointment to name the boy your heir would take forty eight hours to be registered at the Ministry._

_We at Gringotts are willing to perform the ritual within the next three hours, as a favour from goblin to goblin friend._

_For a price, of course._

_May your interest mount and your enemies fall,_   
_Spikefang_   
_Keeper of the Black, Peverell and Potter Vaults_

 

Of course.

A grimaced overtook Harry's face as she looked down at the words, bitterness sweeping up within her.

Kingsley had been a good Minister, but he was, after all, only a Post-War temp.

Three months ago, one Tiberius Thynne had been sworn in.

Whereas Kingsley had simply asked her if she would care to join the Aurors -her answer, of course, being a resounding no- Thynne had been pushing at her all he could in an attempt to rein her in, to present a joint front between The-Woman-Who-Conquered and the Ministry of Magic.

Disgust pooled in her stomach at the man who was really only a step up from Fudge for the fact he wouldn't accept another person's influence. No, he had enough 'good ideas' all by himself.

Like ransoming the child of their saviour back to her.

Like hell if she was going to let that happen.

"Kreacher, fetch some appropriate clothing for Heracles, it looks like I'm going to Gringotts."

Hariel Jamie Potter was not happy.

 

 

 

Gringotts was an impressive marble structure, Harry knew this already. And she supposed, for Heracles, who'd never seen such a thing in his life before, it was quite the sight.

Harry had strolled casually past the line of witches and wizards at the entrance hall, approaching the teller who happily dropped the boy she absentmindedly recognised as Theodore Nott, in favour of attending to her needs.

Normally the goblins would attempt to be polite about it, or rather, what was polite by the standards of their culture.

The fact the goblin did not may have said something about the righteous fury she was giving off in waves. Heracles was tucked against her side, resting against her hip more for speed than necessity, the hood of Sirius' old childhood clothing pulled up and over his face. The clothes were exceedingly out of date, but it nevertheless drew less attention in comparison to what a young boy with a replica of her eyes would.

"I'm here to see Spikefang for a formal ritual, I assume he sent out a notice in regards to its delicate nature?"

The goblin nodded slowly, sneering at Nott whom he'd clearly caught trying to overhear the conversation. Privacy was everything to goblins after all.

A door to the side popped open, allowing Harry to slip through the crowds of people and into one of the many secret passageways of Gringotts. She knew the tunnels well by now, had worked with the goblin warder who'd taught her in exchange for Parselmagic protection spells cast on the tunnels, which would only allow goblins to pass through, or an officially named goblin friend.

Heracles had poked his head out from her shoulder now, staring down at the goblin with wide eyes. In the professional manner she'd come to expect of the goblins, the creature said nothing and thankfully, didn't pull out one of its bloodthirsty little smiles for her little boy, instead treating him with a casual indifference.

"Ministry dogs will get what's coming to them," the goblin grumbled beneath his breath, voice as rocky as the underground vaults they patrolled.

"Amen to that," Harry muttered in returned, stroking the fine head of  hair that covered Heracles' skull, the boy blushing slightly before he nuzzled his face further into the crook of his neck.

He was so adorable, so much more affectionate than she'd have expected. Having been raised in an orphanage, being Voldemort's son.

But he was also her son, and if there was one thing Harry had learnt how to do, learnt how to do with all of her being, it was love.


	4. Three

 

 

 

 

 

_14th August 2000_

 

 

Apperating straight out of Gringotts, Harry landed shakily in the lounge, Kreacher snapping to attention from where he'd been cleaning the priceless jewellery that'd been passed down through the Black family line.

Heracles let out a whimper of protest at the method of magical transportation, and Harry ran her hand up and down the boy's back for a second, before gently placing him on the floor.

"Everything okay?" Harry asked quietly, trying to remember if there was a time those words had ever been spoken to her in her childhood. If there ever was, it was most certainly not spoken by her aunt and uncle.

Dudley, Dudley hadn't even considered her a person before then. It wasn't his fault, his upbringing had been just as damaging as her own.

But he'd turned out, well, not too terrible in the end. He'd apologized, and they'd been tentatively sending letters and Christmas cards since the end of the war. Her cousin had cautiously asked what would happen if any of his children ever had magic after Harry had mentioned magic being a genetic trait, and the red head girl had promised that she'd introduce both him and his child to the Wizarding World right. They'd been on decent terms ever since.

"Yes… Mama." Heracles looked up at her with huge, hesitant green eyes and Harry felt her heart attempt to constrict and balloon at the same time.

Grinning, she crouched down before the boy, holding her arms out and letting Heracles step into the hug. Pressing her nose into the fine hair on Heracles' head, Harry grinned, forcing back the awful tingling in back of her eyes, eyes that seemed suspiciously damp.

"Right then. I was gonna go visit Andromeda today Heracles, she looks after my godson Teddy. He's a bit younger than you, but he's magic too. Would you like to meet him?"

The four year old frowned a bit, brow crinkling, before he gave a slow nod of his head, tiny hands tightening in the thin fabric of Harry's summer shirt.

Grinning, Harry ran another hand through the boy's hair, before turning the Kreacher. The house elf was watching the two of them with a very tentative smile on his face, and Harry forced herself not to wince. Kreacher had been in the Black family for who knew how long, no doubt he'd looked after many of the young children of the House of Black.

"Kreacher? Can you fetch me the gift I have for Teddy please? And if there's still one around, will you grab one of the children brooms for Heracles?"

"Yes Mistress Harry."

Kreacher popped away, to complete her request, and Harry stood up, running her hand over Heracles' head one last time, smile widening when the boy slotted his hand into hers. He was even copying her smile, be it very cautiously, his lips curving up at the corners, even if they parted so that he could suck on his thumb.

"We'll travel by floo this time, it won't make you feel as dizzy."

 

* * *

 

 

Watching the young woman -his mother- putter about the room, Heracles sucked a little harder on his thumb, tiny white teeth nibbling at the edge of the nail that would have to be cut pretty soon. Ashley had said they needed doing, but that was before his pretty, magic mother came and found him.

She was very pretty.

Her hair was red, bright red like the crayons he'd once drawn with, or like the fire engine's that always went by in the street.

His mother's face was very interesting too; she had white lines over the top of her head, like the lightning that happened in thunderstorms. Heracles could only really remember one storm, but he'd seen the lightning fork in the sky, see it glow a brilliant white against the storm grey clouds.

He wasn't quite sure why his Mama had lightning on her face, but it looked cool.

She had his eyes too.

He had her eyes.

They had the same eyes. Very bright green.

And she smelled nice too.

Ashley had always said that maybe he still had some family out there, because he'd been left on the doorstep of the orphanage in a basket, with nothing but his name on the card. Heracles. Not even a last name.

Mrs Clark, who was in charge of the orphanage, had given him the last name Austen, after her favourite author.

But that wasn't his name anymore, because his Mama had come looking for him, and he lived with her now. The funny creatures at the bank, the goblins, had called her 'Miss Potter'. Potter was a last name, Heracles couldn't think of anyone with that was called that, so it had to be a last name, right?

His mother had done a funny magic thing with the goblins, and she'd called him Heracles Sirius Potter. That was his name then? It had to be.

He liked it.

His Mama hadn't given him his actual name, that'd been with him when he was placed at the orphanage, which meant that had to have been his father.

But Heracles couldn't remember that far back, couldn't remember what his father looked like. If he thought hard about it, Heracles figured that his hair had to be dark, because his mother's was red. After all, his eyes were green like his Mama's, so his hair had to be dark from his Papa, right?

Sucking a little harder on his thumb, Heracles allowed his Mama to scoop him up into her arms, resting his head against her shoulder.

No one at the orphanage had held him like this since he'd learnt to walk, not unless he needed to go down the stairs. Even then, that'd stopped once he'd turned four. It was nice, being carried again, to have arms wrapped around him again.

He didn't blame Ashley and the other people that'd worked at the orphanage; there had been children younger than him that needed looking after, after all.

But he'd still missed it.

Now though, now he had a mother of his own, and she seemed happy to pick him up and carry him whenever and wherever he wanted. She also had a funny creature, the house elf called Kreacher, that would do all sorts of stuff if she asked him too.

Heracles wondered if Kreacher would get him some chocolate if he asked, but banished the thought for later consideration when he Mama took some funny looking powder out of a pot by the fireplace. She threw it onto the fire, and Heracles' startled when the flames suddenly flashed into existence, a brilliant green. Like their eyes.

Looking up at the red haired woman, Heracles pulled his thumb from his mouth, ready to ask just what was going on, but it turned out he didn't need to.

"It's called floo travel, travelling from one fireplace to another. I need you to be real quiet okay Heracles?"

Nodding, Heracles wrapped his hands into the loose material of his Mama's top, pressing his face into her neck. He trusted her, but she was still stepping into fire. Magic was very strange; he couldn't even feel any heat coming off of the flames.

"Tonks Townhouse."

There was a roar as the flames danced about, colours flashed before Heracles' eyes, and then Mama was striding out into a brand new room that he'd never seen before.

 Looking around in surprise, Heracles release his tight grip so he could spin about a bit more, lips parted in surprise. They'd moved through the fire, just like his mother had said.

Magic was amazing. And he'd been so proud with just getting a cookie from a jar. Would Mama be teaching him more magic now? Would he learn to do all the things she did?

He hoped so.

He wanted a wand like she had, he wanted to make clothes change with just a gesture, to make things dance through the air and make sparks twinkle like stars in the sky.

His mother was everything he'd ever dreamed of, this world was everything he'd ever dreamed of. And Heracles was very thankful he wasn't actually dreaming.

He was, however, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Just because he'd seen how good the magical world was, it didn't mean there wasn't a darkness to it.

Like when he'd been moved from the nursery to a big kid room. It'd looked good when he was in the nursery, but when he'd moved he'd had to put all his stuff away, make sure it was kept clean because there was no one to do it for him now.

The magical world had to have drawbacks too.

But, as long as he had his Mama, Heracles figured he could deal with them, whatever they may be.

 

* * *

 

 

"Excuse me?"

He still had no idea what he was doing here. That's right, Draco Lucius Malfoy had no idea what he was doing here, in the home of his aunt who'd married a mudblood.

Wait, excuse him, a muggleborn. He was still struggling with that even two years after the Dark Lord's fall.

He thought the biggest shock he'd have today was his mother wanting to visit her sister, who was finally back in the country now that all the Death Eaters had been rounded up, and her grandnephew.

The werewolf spawn.

The werewolf spawn that could change his appearance.

But now, here was Potter.

Here was Potter admitting that upon the return of the Dark Lord, she'd actually secured her linage with the Ritual of Creature. That she'd been looking for the child ever since the end of the war, hence why she'd jumped at the job opportunity the goblins offered her.

Because there were no resources out there like goblin resources.

And there was no doubting that the child was Potter's.

His eyes were a perfect copy, and whoever she'd completed that ritual with had to be from good stock too, because the brat was incredibly good looking for a four year old.

The boy, Heracles Sirius Potter -and it was a good, strong Wizarding name too, something that'd been a bit iffy given the awful middle name that Potter herself had gotten- was sat on the floor, watching Draco's cousin cycle his hair through several different colours with a look of pure awe in his eyes.

The two were playing with some form of building blocks that Draco himself had never even heard of, much less played with when he was a child. They too switched colours at random intervals, and once all the blocks had been used to build something, they were synchronise their dancing colours, even spitting out small sparks and bubbles.

"Will there be a mini-Malfoy join them soon?" Potter's dry voice asked, the woman sat beside him on the sofa, her eyes never once leaving the two children that were currently sat on the thick rug upon the floor.

Twisting the wedding band around on his ring finger, Draco shook his head, though his mind did spin at the idea. Astoria had mentioned that she was looking forwards to having children. Draco had been brought up on the idea that a single child was enough, that if there was more, the family wealth would be split between them and before he could blink, they'd be exactly like the Weasleys.

Though maybe, having more than one child wouldn’t be a bad idea.

If anything, having a playmate would be good. Salazar knows it'd probably have done him some good.

"Maybe. Why, you planning on another one, Potter?"

It wasn't that they weren't friends now.

Given what his mother had done for Potter in the final battle, the woman had come over quite often in those first few post-war months. She, like his mother, had been writing to Aunt Andromeda, who'd left the country to raise her grandson away from any Death Eaters seeking potential revenge. They'd only just returned this week, and it was purely coincidental that Potter had turned up on the same day.

But, Potter wasn't too bad. Calling her by her surname just wasn't a habit he could be bothered to break. She was the same, always calling him 'Malfoy'.

Though she had given both himself and Astoria decent wedding presents, a matching set of cufflinks and a delicate bracelet from the Black Family Vault, that'd once belonged to a 'Draco Black' and his wife, who were born somewhere back in the 1500s.

She'd been the only one of the golden trio to show up though, thank god. He held no love for Weasley and his bookworm, even if he no longer believed they were the scum of the earth now.

"Heracles' father is dead."

Wincing at the blunt statement, Draco glanced at the redhead from the edge of his vision, noticing how the corner of her eyes had tightened, pulling at the lightning-like scar tissue that she wore like warpaint.

Right, touchy subject then.

At least he knew to avoid that specific pitfall.

His attention, however, was instantly drawn back to the two children on the carpet when a sound he'd not heard for two years echoed through the room.

Both his mother and aunt shot to attention, but Potter just let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she did so. The building blocks had begun cycling through the different mascots of Hogwarts, most recently, the Slytherin Snake.

And Potter's spawn was hissing at it.

A Parselmouth.

"Malfoy, second year, duelling club, are you remembering any of this?"

Draco looked over at Potter, who upon registering his gaze, rolled her eyes and then hissing something down at her spawn.

The boy blinked, looking back at the building blocks that changed to the yellow of Hufflepuff and he smiled back, even as the Metamorphmagus began tugging on his arm, babbling questions the entire time.

"That's going to make people very nervous, Potter."

Potter hummed, a crease between her brows before she let out a low sigh.

"A lot of people assumed that with him gone-" and there was no need to expand on who the 'he' was, "-that I lost the talent. But it's not something you really lose, is it?"

She had a point.

Rubbing at the tender flesh of his forehead, where a migraine was building, Draco nodded, waving off his mother's concerned look.

"Besides, you have a kid soon enough, and they won't even need to remember the Slytherin common room password, Heracles'll be able to let them in with just an 'open'."

Holding back the snort of amusement with a practiced ease, Draco stood up, running a hand through his hair as he did so.

"Want to play a seeker's game out back, Potter?"

He was tired of sitting and talking, and it'd been quite a while since he'd flown just for the fun of it.

"You're on Malfoy."


End file.
